Rewind and Press Play
by venenatus.venustas
Summary: SLASH WARNING! Written for shirasade's First Line challenge: "There are things that cannot be undone, no matter how hard one tries."


Title: Rewind and Press Play   
Chapter: 1 of Merlin knows how many  
Author: venenatus.venustas   
Pairing: Harry/Draco  
Rating: PG-13, maybe bad language   
Warnings: Hm. Stupidity? Bad writing?   
Disclaimer: Fake! They're not mine! The story is, but it's all a figment of my overactive imagination!   
Summary: For the Inspiration Community's "First Line" challenge by shirasade: "There are things that cannot be undone, no matter how hard one tries."   
Notes: Hm. This started off as angst and then became not-so-angst and then became just downright weird. Hee. I'M SO SORRY THIS WAS LATE!  
  
---  
  
There are things that cannot be undone, no matter how hard one tries.  
  
I cannot undo the fact that Voldemort murdered my parents. I cannot undo the fact that I was the cause of your father's death. I cannot even undo the fact that I had not taken your hand on that first day of Hogwarts, almost eight years ago.  
  
Facts, as we realise soon in life, are unchangeable and cannot be undone. It does not help that they already occurred, and even a Time Turner, while taking you back in time, may not allow you to undo what has been done.  
  
But what of the present, of that which is still occurring and of which can still hope to be undone?  
  
The present, such as now, with me facing you and you with your back to me.  
  
"I think I'm in love with you," I had said.  
  
That was twenty minutes ago, twenty minutes ago since you turned your back to me, and twenty minutes of agonising silence, waiting for a reaction – any reaction.  
  
And finally, I am granted one.  
  
"I think I just hallucinated," you say, back still turned to me.  
  
"Um. No, I don't think so," I reply.  
  
"Then I must have heard wrong," you say, and why won't you turn around?  
  
"Um. No, I don't think so," I say again, but slower.  
  
"Well then, would you mind terribly repeating what you just said, Potter?"  
  
I frown just the slightest. "No, I don't mind. I said that I think I'm in love with you."  
  
"See," you say, and there is a pondering tone to your words. "I thought I just heard you say that you think you're in love with me. But, as I am obviously hallucinating, there must be something wrong with me."  
  
"Um, no, Malfoy. You heard correctly. I did say that."  
  
"Ah," you say. "That...requires some thought, then."  
  
"Well," I say, gesturing awkwardly (I'm flapping my hand around like some deranged bird), "feel free to take your time and think. Not as if we're in a rush or anything."  
  
"Hm," you say, and you tilt your head upwards so I think you're looking upwards but I can't be sure because your back is still facing me.  
  
I sigh; I can see that you aren't about to give me a direct answer any time soon.  
  
"So, when exactly did you first discover that you were, well, in love with me?"  
  
"I beg your pardon?" I ask, and my eyebrows are raised.  
  
"When did you discover you were in love with me?" you repeat.  
  
My eyebrows creep higher on my forehead. "You seem awfully nonchalant about it."  
  
You wave an airy hand. "I get propositioned all the time. I have gotten millions of love confessions before."  
  
"Oh," I say, and I hang my head because, well, you probably have someone better than me to be with, anyway. Someone more like you, perhaps, elegant and refined and all smooth talking and glittering smiles.  
  
"So?" you say, and you turn your head back slightly to look at me, and I see there is a tilt to the corner of your mouth, a not-quite smile, but it is enough for me to duck my head and blush.  
  
"I don't know," I say. "It's just..." I can feel my face getting even warmer. "Does it matter?"  
  
"Well, yes," you say, matter-of-factly. "Not _terribly_ important, of course, but it's very interesting to know because we, as you very well know, hate each other." You hold up one of your hands and inspect your nails.  
  
"Um. Yes," I say. "Yes, we hate each other." I can see your hand from where I am right now, all satiny white skin and long slim fingers. I swallow, hard.  
  
"I must say, Potter, right now I am harbouring a strange fascination at how you could possibly fall in love with an enemy. I am not surprised that you fell in love with _me_, of course – you must have been overcome by my beauty and charms, _naturally_ –" and how incredibly modest he is, _naturally_, "– but that does not take away the fact that I am a Malfoy and you are a Potter. It is not as if I see Weasel or Granger confessing their love to me. So why you?"  
  
"Well, I –"  
  
Unfortunately, you appear to be enjoying the sound of your voice, or you want to try and force your opinion onto me so I will agree with you, because you interrupt me with, "I personally think that there was always some sexual tension that you never noticed. Perhaps it manifested itself into hatred because you didn't know what to do with it because, well, I represent everything you aren't and will never be. Heh." You chuckle.  
  
I must look like I'm sucking on a lemon, what with the way I'm pressing my lips together. "Well, Malfoy. I can't say much about your _analysis_ of the, uh, situation, but I can assure you, there has _never_ been sexual tension with you, and that most definitely is _not_ the reason that I'm – what I said before."  
  
You laugh. "Embarrassed now, are you, Potter?" You tilt your head down and some of your hair slips past your shoulders to frame your face and hide it from me. "Why don't you just run off and I'll pretend it never happened."  
  
"What?" For some reason I could not quite comprehend what you just said. The words just aren't registering in my brain.  
  
"Did you lose a bet or something, Potter? Is that why you're here?" You swirl around, suddenly, and your robes sigh softly as you lean against the wall, steel grey eyes fixed onto mine.  
  
"No, of course not! How could you think that?" Perhaps it is because my heart is in my eyes, and you almost but not quite flinch.  
  
"How could I not, Potter?" you snarl, and there is no trace of amusement in you, not anymore. "How could I not think someone put you up to this – how could I possibly think that you are doing this out of your own will?"  
  
"And how could I not be, Malfoy?" I counter.  
  
"Easily," you shoot back at me, but I push on.  
  
"You," I say, and wave my hands around again. "You don't you even know, do you? How drive me crazy, what with your looks and your smiles and turning away from me – always turning away from me."  
  
"What about my looks?" you cut in.  
  
"Not how you look, but your _looks_. The way you look at me. It gives me gooseflesh and sends shivers up my spine and sometimes even more, and you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."  
  
Your gaze flickers down to my groin before looking back up again and when I don't say anymore, you raise an eyebrow.  
  
I don't know what else to say. You've always been too much for words, too many things that could not be expressed, too changing to pin a description to you. And so we stand, silent and staring.  
  
"So what do you want?" you ask, and you cross your arms in front of your chest and straighten up from where you were leaning against the wall. "What do you want from me? What sort of answer are you looking for?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe – maybe how you feel about me?" I can't look at you, I _can't_.  
  
"How I feel?" you repeat, "About you?"  
  
I can't answer and neither can I move; I am frozen in place, rigid from nervousness.  
  
"Potter...how can you possibly expect me to give an answer to – to that?" You're surprised, I can tell.  
  
"Well, it's pretty straightforward. Do you feel the same? Or not?"  
  
"And I'm supposed to decide that right now, with you standing here before me?"  
  
"Well, how else would you want it?"  
  
You grumble something I can't quite catch.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said that I'd rather not. Give an answer, that is."  
  
"Oh." But there is still hope in me yet. You could have just left me earlier, but you haven't, you're still standing here.  
  
You're giving me a sideways look now, head turned slightly to your right. "Potter, are you for real?"  
  
"Yes." Can't you see that, even now? Can't you?  
  
But even as you give me hope, you take it away from me as you stomp out the door and slam it behind you. I run, pulling it back open, and you are almost at the end of the corridor. "Well?" I shout after you.  
  
You completely ignore me and turn a corner.  
  
----  
  
TBC! 


End file.
